Best Bro
by SirPolarBear
Summary: In which Deimos has some familial issues, too many toxic memories, and doesn't get a new bike. Becoming a mercenary and working for a shady organization might have not been the best idea after all in retrospect, but it sure was better than what he had back home. A Madness Combat Fanfiction.


_Dissenter be damned._

He thought that he would be adjusted to such sights by now. It wasn't as if he was a stranger to it, anyhow. Running away from home with no plans and nowhere to go caused a person to wind up in interesting situations. He wasn't a planner anyway. He hadn't cared; he just had to get far away from there and never look back.

But being a confused kid out somewhere in Nevada was a rough thing, and solutions, even the temporary ones, were like dreams come true. Even if such solutions meant joining up with a slightly shady organization.

_Even though you had just left one, nice job getting involved with another one. It felt nice, though, knowing that you were getting some sort of revenge out of the way. It made the whole thing worth it._

Even if it meant doing tech and hacking work that was probably illegal, pulling a few triggers, and getting his hands a bit bloody all just for a couple of bucks each month.

So yeah, he had traded college for carnage, and a real future for being stuck in a twisted war tearing apart the state. He hadn't expected this, though. He didn't think that he would ever have to see it again.

There was his real future, right in front of him. That was where he belonged and it was surely where he was going to end up, because he was a traitor and his brother told him that traitors were always punished.

_Welcome home, asshole._

Deimos had a dry mouth and barbed words stuck in his throat. He was staring straight at himself, impaled upon the wall with a warning beside him, written in his own blood.

* * *

The mission itself started out ordinary, except that a few minutes after getting the assignment, it wasn't anymore.

Things started out decently enough, anyway. Work was alright, or at least as alright as having to continually kill a bunch of fanatics and pretending that there wasn't a war waging across the state. Work was as great as going to bed each night and pretending that there wasn't still blood under your fingernails and jumbled thoughts running through your head.

But it was also just killing a few crazy people in the dark every now and then, and it had just become work. Not really a big deal anymore. It was a temporary solution that had ended up becoming permanent.

That was something that Deimos was alright with. Besides, having a real place to stay was cool too, and things at home were decent enough. Everything was way better than before, anyway. At least there was that.

Time, some decent firearms, and a mostly cool partner had helped the whole shady agency thing become not so bad.

Yeah, Sanford was mostly cool, if not a little irritable and a bit on the obsessive-compulsive side. But it was nice having somebody to talk to who wasn't gonna judge you for going out and murdering people for a living, because they'd be right beside you doing the exact same thing.

"Yeah, except when you lock me out of the house, jackass!"

Yeah, things were real dandy at home.

Deimos guessed that it was just easier for them to pick on each other when they were stuck at home like this. Waiting for a new mission was tedious, restless, being-stuck-at-home business, and headquarters hadn't contacted them all day.

Still, though. He and Sanford fought sometimes and maybe it was easier to piss each other off when they were stuck in Sanford's cramped apartment but the guy didn't have to lock the goddamn door.

"Okay, I'm sorry that I said that I didn't think you would do it."

As anticipated, there was no reply.

"I apologize for that. I also apologize for making fun of you for sorting all of the silverware in the goddamn house into sets of eight. That was very wrong of me and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

It had been a stupid fight anyways, and he was getting bored of sitting outside. Yeah, maybe he had said a couple of rude things that didn't need to be said, but so had Sanford.

Computer addicted and lazy? Deimos was nothing of the sort. At least he was pretty sure, anyway.

"But since we're mature adults, I think that you should open the door so we can talk this out nicely."

Deimos cleared his throat.

"Just so you know it's been like half an hour and I really gotta pee."

The sound of movement came from inside, a bit vague. Maybe footsteps.

"Sorry, I forgot you were out there, it's been so nice and quiet inside."

"Cool, open the door."

Sanford was right by the door, Deimos could hear him now. He wondered if he kneed the door really hard, he might be able to hit him where it hurt. Door-locking bastard, that's all Sanford was, some kind of partner.

"Dude, come on, it's starting to get cold out here. Are you really going to leave me out here alone? In the cold? In the dark? Find your humanity."

"You know how to kill somebody with your bare hands and it's twelve in the afternoon."

"Harsh."

Sanford finally unlocked and opened the door, but weirdly enough, he wasn't making that annoyed face he usually had after an argument. He looked too calm.

That was weird.

Unsettling was more like it. The whole door thing and the whole argument weren't that big of a deal, really. Their arguments weren't usually a big deal. But Deimos knew what that calm meant and it never had good connotations.

"What?" News. There had been news; there was just a feeling in his gut. Anyway, even if it weren't for that, it'd be easy to figure it out. Whenever there was news, Sanford always closed up and shut down and Deimos would do what he always did and try to pretend that things were going well. Coping mechanisms or something.

After about a year of working together, Deimos had found some patterns. At least he knew what to expect now.

"Nothing big, if you were wondering. We got a new assignment."

Finally.

"Okay, yeah, kinda figured. What assignment?"

"We're moving closer to the bigger cities. There's an A.A.H.W. barracks or building or something too close to Vegas and they want us to take it out."

They. That ambiguous 'they' somehow covered it all, even though it should have proven extremely difficult to try and explain just how their own agency was organized. Everything was a bit too implied without much actual information.

But.

"Vegas? They actually thought that it would be a good idea to set up a base that close to a tourist trap?"

That was something different.

It still didn't make sense after reading the instructions and looking at the attached files that had been sent through email. It still didn't make sense when they listed off the previous thirty or so missions they had been on.

This time around was different, Deimos figured. It wasn't the normal 'go kill these couple of guys in an alleyway and cover up your tracks the best you can', but an actual site mission. It should have been exciting, but it wasn't.

Deimos said that maybe the A.A.H.W. were moving closer to bigger cities to try and spread propaganda.

Sanford said that it would make sense for them to try and increase their numbers.

They were both quiet when they figured out just why the A.A.H.W. had set up another base so close to so many people.

"It's a fuckin' suicide mission." Deimos blurted out after a good ten minutes or so of quiet.

"Could be. They want us to slip up, the whole thing is gonna be rigged."

"Yeah, that's one word for it."

Alright.

A mess of civilians, tourists, and cameras meant that any slip up would result in massive media exposure. It would be too hard to cover up such a mass killing, especially if Vegas were in the picture. Too many people, too many cameras. Media exposure would in turn mean the Anti-A.A.H.W. being discovered and shut down, and more than likely winding up in court and ultimately a jail cell.

Being found guilty of murder wasn't something Deimos wanted to go through publicly. He'd already put himself on trial in his own head.

But if they didn't take the building down, or at least slow down the agents in the area, then the A.A.H.W. would most likely get another storm of propaganda brewing and ultimately a ton of new agents sucked into the fray.

Both options sounded pretty awful, and Deimos was sincerely questioning the fact that he and Sanford had to be assigned this mission, but on second thought, he figured that he'd rather be the one to screw it up rather than sit back and watch someone else do it.

"So basically we're gonna have to take out a building nice and quietly?"

Sanford nodded. "Sounds like it."

"But they're turning it on us. They know that we're gonna come and try to take it down but if we screw it up, then there's no way that people won't see."

Sanford just nodded again, and then fell quiet for another moment before getting up. "Let's just leave now. It's a long drive."

Deimos got up as well, and shook his head, surveying the room he was in. Well, if they were gonna get arrested, then they might as well go out with a bang. Seriously, a curious neighbor would just have to take one peek inside and then everything would be lost. The entire apartment had evidence of their occupation all around, from the Glock on the kitchen table to the old mission papers scattered on the floor.

It seemed dumb to automatically assume the worst, but it also felt ridiculous to assume that they might actually be able to pull things off without a hitch. So he just resolved to forget about it for now and deal with it later.

Either way, it was going to have to get done.

So Deimos let himself fall back into the familiar routine of prepping for a mission. It was better not to focus on questions and worries yet. It was far better to fall back into the routine of loading up the back of the car with firearms and flash bangs and matches for burning documents and whatever else they had on them, putting on bulletproof vests under their shirts, and going out and pretending as if nothing could ever go wrong.

* * *

Traffic was slow, and four hours in the car later the pre-mission excited giddiness was starting to wear off.

It was one of those weird things that he and Sanford would talk about. The feeling was strange, because a mission meant going out and having to kill people and do things that would generally leave a stain on your conscience. However, there was still a weird jittery feeling, a bit of excitement. The general resolution was that it was just nerves. Nerves and adrenaline and nothing more, because there was no way in hell that they were starting to become addicted to murder.

It was nerves, Deimos figured, because the whole experience felt a bit like a caffeine crash. Just an emotional one. Yeah.

It was dark out, which seemed like an inconvenience but Sanford said something about it being harder for clear footage to be taken in the dark even if they were by some chance caught. It was slightly reassuring but Deimos was mostly focused on just how restless his legs were getting.

The car was getting a bit stuffy, but rolling down a window wasn't a negotiable thing after they drove past a pair of men in monochrome suits, heading down the sidewalk with not so well concealed guns under their suit jackets.

But it was dark, so it didn't really matter. It was easier to cover things up in the dark.

When they reached it, the building itself wasn't all that remarkable. Tall, a bit drab. Cement.

Deimos drove back around, trying to find a side street to park in. Even if it was dark, a random car pulling up to the building wouldn't be overlooked.

Bulletproof vests on, guns loaded, fake optimism set.

It was time to enter the game and press play.

Go around the side of the building, sneak past a set of patrolling agents, enter through the side door—

"It's locked."

"Sorry, Deimos, I forgot that they usually leave the doors unlocked for us. How rude of them."

"God, I just thought that maybe we would get lucky." He reached out and knocked on the door.

"You have got to be shi—"

"Girl scouts here, my friend and I are trying to win a new bike. It's the one with the really fucking cool basket and the little horn. Yes, we do have Caramel Delites. While you're at it, you wanna sign up and purchase things from our school fundraiser—hey!"

A sudden sock to the head sent Deimos reeling, and he cocked his gun, unsure if it was Sanford or a less than friendly agent.

He straightened up and was met with the sight of two sickly familiar cloned agents approaching them.

No use in wasting bullets out in the open, and where anybody driving by could see them.

Knives existed for a reason, even if it meant getting your hands a little dirtier.

The two agents split up in a smooth, practiced motion, brandishing their own knives and advancing forwards.

Everything just became mechanical from that point on.

And it struck Deimos as a bit frightening, because disarming someone and slitting their throat shouldn't have been a mechanical motion. It was even more frightening because he honestly hadn't noticed up until this point.

Sanford found a key in one of the agent's coat pockets. He also gave Deimos another sharp jab with his elbow before moving to unlock the door.

The first few rooms, as anticipated, were nothing but storage. They usually were, or at least that seemed to be the pattern so far. He and Sanford and only been on a few missions so far that involved actually going through and shutting down a building.

There weren't many buildings to shut down back home, anyway. Not yet.

The room they found themselves in was small, more full of crates than anything else. Deimos glanced around, watching for any sign of the grunts that were usually left to guard these less important rooms.

Then there was a figure clad in grey coming through the doorway, muttering something about being "the only one who had to check on things around here".

It just took one pull of the trigger, one tiny movement, and one bullet. That was all.

Being inside granted them just the slightest extra bit of freedom with the bullets.

"First few rooms are gonna be like this," Sanford said, leading the way into the next room. "Boxes, things they don't really need. We came in towards the back."

"So the boring part's first."

"That works too."

Though not all of the rooms contained the same grey crates as the first, there wasn't much of a difference. Wave after wave of the same grey-clad agents came. The grunts were easy to pick off. Easy enough that it might have made Deimos feel a bit bad if he had been more sensitive to the whole situation. They were fighting cannon fodder, was all.

First five rooms were really nothing boxes, bullets, and blood. He took a swift kick to the gut and a punch to the eye in exchange for several deadly shots. It was a fair enough trade. Deimos never expected to get off scratch-free.

Things were moving along quite decently. The grey-clad grunts turned to agents in suits with firearms of their own, but that wasn't anything new, either.

What the hell had they been so worried about? This mission wasn't bad at all.

Then there was a group of agents armed with Desert Eagles and everything was monochrome and there was a bullet whizzing right past his face.

Aim and shoot, just aim and shoot.

But then there was an agent who was rushing towards him and Deimos never got to see if his shot found its target because he was being shoved back into the wall and then the entire Milky Way was clouding his vision

Blank walls hurt and the throbbing in his head was enough to make his vision fuzzy. He heard another few shots being fired, but he wasn't sure who exactly the shooter was.

He kicked his leg out in a shaky arc, focusing on knocking the offending agent off his feet. Deimos might have been dizzy, but at least his aim wasn't too bad.

_Focus, focus. Shake it off, you aren't going down this easily._

He shot the agent in the head before the crumpled figure on the floor had time to get to his feet once more.

There was a flurry of confusion and shouting, and Deimos punctuated the mess with as many gunshots as he could. His aim was a bit more off than usual, and there was an anxious gnawing in his stomach.

Trade a knife to the gut for a sharp jab to the eye. Deimos was sure to make sure that he got the better end of the deal.

He was pretty sure that Sanford was still standing, because there was another loud bang in the air and another clone stumbled back into the wall.

That was loud.

If there was anybody walking around outside, then they would be sure to hear the commotion, but that wasn't what Deimos was focusing on.

"Empty?" His voice felt too loud all of a sudden, and Deimos was almost certain that there were footsteps pounding against the floor a few doors down.

"Empty." Sanford echoed. "You good?"

"Just dandy. Your nose is turning into Niagara Falls, though, just to let ya know."

"Tourists not welcome."

They paused briefly to examine the weapons that had fallen beside the bodies on the floor, switching out and taking what they needed. Nothing remarkable, but a loaded gun sure was better than an empty one.

Deimos braced himself for the next fight as they headed through the door, but what he found instead was almost intriguing.

"Dude."

Deimos wasn't sure what exactly it was, but it sure looked like some sort of massive control room. Computers and keypads and machinery lined the walls. Blinking monitors and buttons provided the room with a dim light.

"Can you do anything with this stuff?" Sanford stayed back, surveying the room with a wary eye as Deimos approached what seemed to be the main dashboard.

"Hell yeah. This is just like at my br—"

Holy shit.

He hadn't just said that, he never talked about that.

Deimos felt his stomach flip over and suddenly the dizziness was coming back. Something was wrong, everything was off, something was very wrong here.

"When I was training, y'know? I haven't seen this stuff in a while."

It was hard to cover up a slip-up when you felt more like throwing up.

But some things had to be brushed off, so Deimos took a seat at the dashboard and started to experimentally tap on the keypad.

"This place shouldn't be empty." Sanford was still over by the door, or at least it sounded like it. Deimos was too invested in the blinking gadgetry in front of him.

Was it suspicious? Sure, but who cared about that when there were so many cool buttons?

"Well, it is, so that's nice."

Security. It was all security, and Deimos felt like a kid in a candy store. He was a good shot, he knew he was, but this right here was his element. Everything was fine, everything was dandy now.

"I think I can disable their alarms. Watch the door."

The security system itself was pretty standard, but the sick feeling in his stomach made breaking into the system and shutting down the security cameras a bit more difficult than it should have been. Some sort of twisted nostalgia was washing over him.

Disable the alarms, right. That was easy enough.

Just a few more buttons.

_Wow, isn't this like home? You used to do this all the time. It was your job, remember?_

Front room security camera, shut down.

_You miss it, don't you? He told you what happened to the people who tried to desert the organization. He showed you. You got to watch it firsthand._

Just a few more cameras to go.

_They shot the agent, in front of everybody. He had apparently tried to run after news got out the Nexus was failing and that things were going sour. It was a sick affair. You remember that they were drinking and laughing, because the posters said that it was a party. You thought it was cool. There were never many parties, and definitely not ones that you got to come along for. You felt so mature when your brother told you that you were allowed to come to this one. He never took you to work with him, at least not the real deal._

"Deimos, you need to hurry up."

_They dragged the runaway up to the front of the room, the two agents clad in dark suits. The room fell silent. You were close enough to see the runaway, on his knees and his face screwed up in a pained expression. A man in a lab coat fired a bullet through his head. _

"Deimos."

_You were standing next to him, in your favorite hoodie and with dark circles under your eyes from staying up and playing video games. He told you that it was the right thing, that traitors deserved punishment. You knew it was the right thing, anyway. You didn't need to be reminded._

"They're right outside the door! Listen to me!"

_You already knew. And when you looked at your brother, he just nodded. And then you knew that if you tried to leave, if you tried anything funny, then he wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing to you._

"Deimos!"

Somebody was grabbing his shoulder and in a moment of sheer panic, Deimos reached out and pulled the nearest lever.

The fire alarm went off, loud and shrill, throughout the building.

Everything after that was a blur, because Sanford was dragging him by the collar through the next door and there were gunshots going off. Deimos was pretty sure that he shot a few agents, but he wasn't positive. Everything was mechanical, anyway. What did it matter?

"Move, move!"

There were pounding footsteps behind them and there were more shouts filling the air, and he saw out of the corner of his eye Sanford pulling out a box of matches and striking one furiously against the small box.

The match dropped somewhere behind them, but Deimos didn't have time to see if it actually caught anything on fire. He grabbed the matches from Sanford's hands and started lighting as many as he could and throwing them down.

Gunshots were going off like wild and Deimos could hardly feel himself dodging blows and jabs with knives. He could hardly feel himself pulling the trigger anymore, but he heard the click of his empty gun loud and clear.

They were almost out; the rooms were getting less and less filled with agents. They were evacuating. There was a fire.

Was he dead? He felt a bit like he was floating.

No, he wasn't dead. If he was dead he wouldn't be able to feel himself sprinting through the rooms and rapidly firing at any agents that happened to get in his way. Deimos couldn't remember the last time he had been so reckless with his ammo.

Wait, yeah he did. It was when things did finally go haywire back home and the organization started toppling and the shit hit the fan. He had stolen his brother's gun.

He never gave it back. He didn't get a chance to.

There was still a fire, or at least Deimos thought there was. He couldn't really focus on anything. His chest felt too tight and he couldn't breathe and something was terribly wrong.

Sanford shoved him through another doorway, and Deimos lurched forward, expecting a harmless looking lobby with a way out.

They were almost out, weren't they?

Fight or flight.

But it wasn't a way out.

The room wasn't large. It was very blank, and very empty. The walls were covered in clean white paint, without a single chip, and the floor was blank cement. Deimos looked around, his senses coming back to him for a brief moment. They weren't lost in the building now, they couldn't be.

He heard Sanford drop his knife behind him, and he turned around.

The fourth wall of the room was decorated in red.

It took a moment to grasp fully what he was seeing.

The agent on the wall was hunched over, in a position that made him look as if he had been crucified.

It took another moment to realize that the agent had been.

Sharp spikes, poles of some sort, were driven through first his ankles, then again through his wrists, and then in his middle. It was a gruesome yet carefully executed display.

The red paint on the wall had been slapped on in a strange pattern.

It took another moment to realize that the paint was in fact blood, and that the blood was spelling out a message.

_DISSENTER BE DAMNED_

It took another moment for Deimos to realize that he was screaming.

* * *

He wasn't sure how they got out of the building, or when exactly, but Deimos could dimly register being in the backseat of the car. Maybe a police car, maybe one more familiar. He was too tired to care.

_Dissenter be damned._

God, he was freezing. He was trembling, and he couldn't stop, and maybe Sanford was talking to him. Maybe not. He didn't know anymore. He didn't really care.

The backseat of the car was too cramped and everything felt like ice, even though the desert air was hazy and warm outside. The fabric of the seat felt crusty beneath his cheek, more than likely with his own dried blood. It made his stomach twist.

There was a faint buzzing sound in his ears, one that reminded him far too much of computers, and just spurred him further into that cold icy blankness.

It took a few more minutes to be able to recognize that Sanford was trying to talk to him and that in fact there weren't police officers in the front seat. It took a few more to lift his head up and shake it to clear that awful buzz.

"Deimos."

He felt paralyzed. That was the word. He felt freezing and paralyzed and even though he had a knife clutched in one of his hands and he knew how to use it, Deimos felt utterly helpless.

"Deimos, come on, something. I'm not even gonna make you talk about it if you don't want to. But are you still there?"

"I'm here, I'm right in front of you, dumbass." That was a mutter, and a pretty pathetic one at that, but Deimos figured it was better than nothing. He didn't really know what else to say.

"You started freaking out."

"No shit, kinda got that." His hands were still shaking. His hands were shaking so badly.

Deimos pulled himself up into some sort of sitting position with a grimace. "We get out okay? No prison?"

"We got out before the fire trucks came. Nice work with the alarm, but give me some warning next time."

That hadn't been intentional, but he was also too exhausted to argue otherwise and anyway, he had already screwed things up enough as it was. At least this way Sanford thought that Deimos had done something useful.

"Did the building get taken out?"

"Not really, but it's gone now." The tone of Sanford's voice suddenly went flat, and Deimos felt his grimace grow.

There'd be hell to pay back home with the agency for that. They weren't supposed to attract attention and they had done the exact opposite of that. At least they weren't arrested.

"Sorry. I just kinda freaked."

He wasn't really sure how to get his hands to stop shaking or how to explain just what the hell had happened back there. He didn't really know himself and that was real damn frustrating.

"I saw that. I don't want to make you talk about it if you don't feel comfortable or whatever with it, but can you try to tell me what the hell happened?"

Deimos sat up for real this time, and then sat on his hands, because they were still shaking and he wanted to look at calm as possible. Fake it until you make it, right?

Nah. That was dumb.

"I dunno, I was just in the control room and I felt kinda weird and I started thinking about—"

The words stuck in his throat and his mouth suddenly felt very dry.

"It kinda reminded me of my brother, from back home, before here. And then I didn't know what was going on and then there was that fuckin'…that thing, okay? That's all, I just freaked, I'm cool now."

Deimos was cool now. He was fine. He was cooler than ice cold and he was doing fine and oh, god, that was not a hiccup.

Flipping his shit and practically running away from such a crucial mission was already enough to deal with. He didn't need this, too, this dumb crybaby stunt.

"So it reminded you of home?"

"Yeah, kinda, whatever." Deimos didn't need to deal with any stupid questions at the moment. The mission was more important, and had far less to do with his childhood home than the current conversation.

"I don't think that it was a real building, okay? Something was wrong with it, it was rigged, you said it was gonna be rigged earlier and it was. It was just some sort of message, something was wrong there."

God, he couldn't get it out without babbling. Deimos felt like he was hyperventilating. No, he was pretty positive that he was.

Sanford was still staring at him and it was making Deimos feel like he was about to get sick.

"That's nice, yeah, but hold on. Seeing somebody impaled on a wall reminded you of home. The hell was your brother doing? What was he, some sort of mass murderer?"

No. His brother wasn't a murderer, he was a genius. He did things for a reason.

All of the excuses and explanations that Deimos had been given were suddenly rushing back to him. The organization was there for a reason. The project was there for a reason, and anyways, the Agency Advocating a Hopeful World wanted the new technology. It was gonna be helpful. It was going to save lives, stop wars, keep the country safe…

"Was he? I don't know, he sounds pretty messed up if that was just like home—"

"Don't say that." Deimos' head was beginning to spin again and he moved his hands back up to cover his ears. "Shut up, shut the hell up, just give me a few minutes."

"Deimos." Now Sanford looked genuinely concerned, and it made his stomach flip over again because Deimos sure as hell wasn't looking for sympathy. He wasn't gonna talk about this. He left it behind years ago.

_No._

"Tell me about your brother."

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, okay, I've been wanting to write this since July and the idea had been stuck in my head for like eighty years but I've been crazy blocked with this story! So finally, here we go. The Madness universe itself is one made up of twisted timelines and scenarios, and it's a pain to try and figure out, but this story here could be placed somewhere before the events of the canon series. I apologize for any inconsistencies with canon, haha, but I promise that I did try. This whole story is more one where I play around with headcanons and with a possible/maybe implied connection between the A.A.H.W. and Project Nexus, and poor Deimos happened to fall into the mix.

Also a huge thank you to my pals Madisyn, Brinda, and my cousin Kelly for proofreading, and my mother doing the final readthrough/grammar check. Also, of course, a HUGE thank you to Spirit for giving me writing advice and motivation to actually get things done. You're a lifesaver, dude.

Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you guys (oh dear lord, I thought that I would never get to say this again) next chapter! c:


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